


home

by kigamin



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, cheese and fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:15:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29594037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kigamin/pseuds/kigamin
Summary: Ten years of marriage never bored Jesse of lazy Sunday mornings next to Hanzo, talking shit about everyone and reminiscing about the past. Who would have thought the clash of two wildly different wandering souls would birth a home. [gift fic] [McHanzo]
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada
Kudos: 42





	home

Ten years of marriage were no help to Jesse when it came to Hanzo. Especially not on lazy, slow Sunday mornings like this one. Not when the sun, filtered through the edgy curtains his husband had picked when they moved in together, painted a beautiful canvas of vines and swirls on his back. Not when the dragon in his tattoo slowly came alive as Hanzo moved in his sleep, rippling under the muscles of his arm.

And certainly not when he could thread his fingers through his long hair and watch the black locks riddled with hints of white slip through like water. 

“Mhm,” Hanzo mumbled, propping himself up on his elbow. “Jesse.”

“That’s me indeed. Jesse McCree, your huckleberry,” Jesse said, snaking his arm around Hanzo’s waist. He planted a kiss on his nape and stayed there, bathing in the warmth of Hanzo’s body. It was crazy how two people with so little in common could fit together so perfectly, bodies and minds like puzzle pieces so strikingly different they completed each other. Two perfect imperfect wholes making an even more perfect imperfect whole. 

Hanzo snorted lightly. When they had just met and Jesse was desperately trying to find how he could seduce this beautiful but impenetrable man, Hanzo would roll his eyes at Jesse’s attempts. With hindsight, it was to be expected; puns, booze, and cowboy aesthetics made a poor combo to seduce a renegade archer raised as the heir of a Mafia empire and with enough trauma and self-loathing to drive any therapist crazy. Thank god, though, Jesse had enough of those last two to strike a conversation with the archer. 

One glass, a taunting comment about his weapon of choice. Two glasses, a compliment about his aim as he shot a glass through the bar to… brag? Three glasses, and Jesse would spill some secrets about Blackwatch and how much he sometimes missed Gabriel Reyes. Four glasses, and he would ramble about watching Fareeha grow up then lose her mother only to get a vigilante back. Five glasses -- and god, that archer could hold his liquor -- and Jesse would talk about his prosthetic arm. 

Six glasses, the archer finally introduced himself as Hanzo Shimada. Seven, eight, nine, and another name spilled through his lips -- Genji, a brother he had nearly slain, and Jesse’s first Blackwatch colleague. 

Ten glasses, and they had ended in bed together. Still conscious enough to know what would happen and quietly usher secrets none of them should remember, and to say what was okay to touch and what wasn’t.

Of course, when they woke up, neither of them talked about it, but they remembered everything. 

Every secret. Every name. Every nightmare. 

And every kiss.

“We’ve been married for ten years, Jesse,” Hanzo slurred through his lips. “I’m not prone to your… seduction methods anymore.” 

And yet, he turned in the bed to nuzzle against Jesse, tearing a low chuckle from his husband’s mouth. Jesse could swear he felt Hanzo smile against his chest. 

“So what you’re saying is, you used to be affected.”

“...”

“Come on, I need answers. Feedback. What was it those old people called it in 2020? Right,  _ tea _ . I want the tea, love.”

Hanzo snorted, again. “I was affected, yes, but not for the reasons you think.”

“Hey, what does that mean?”

“It means, you first used  _ that  _ pickup line on me and I swore to myself I would never let you get in my pants.”

“Well, clearly that poorly worked. Also, that wasn’t such a bad pickup line.”

Hanzo cleared his throat and took a deliberately dandy, lower voice, a rendition of Jesse’s drunken voice. “‘Oh, hey, are you an archer? Because you just  _ struck  _ me.’ I’m embarrassed even saying it out loud.’’

If he had any shame, Jesse McCree would have cringed. But all he did was laugh that hearty laugh that made his entire body shake. A part of him knew Hanzo had fallen for that laugh before he had fallen for him. The way he had first looked at him, an ice prison begging for sun, he would never forget it. He had plenty of thorns in his mind, but the peace on Hanzo’s face whenever Jesse smiled or laughed was enough to keep going, keep cutting the weeds and thorns, even if he bled in the process. 

“I mean, sure, that wasn’t my best, but it was good enough to get me a night with you so who’s the real winner?”

“Then we woke from that night and your ‘friend’ Elizabeth Calamity chased us across half the country thinking we were together. We had to flee from Dorado. I couldn’t trust anyone named Bob afterwards, and somehow, because Americans are weird, that included  _ Roberts _ .”

Jesse waved him off. “Ashe is a friend, c’mon. Sure she tried to kill me but we’re past that now. Ever since she set her sights on Lacroix she’s been… tamed. And we had plenty of fun then.” He spread his hand on Hanzo’s back, thumb stroking his skin in circles. “That road trip was memorable.”

“If by memorable you mean awful, then yes, it was  _ memorable _ ,” Hanzo spat. 

“You didn’t like the motels in King’s Row, huh?” 

“I didn’t, no. The one good thing about them was the lack of individual beds. At least then I could pretend it was a hassle sleeping next to you.”

A laugh rippled through Jesse’s throat. “You had this whole edgy grumpy persona going on for you, of course you couldn’t let me know you actually enjoyed my presence.”

“You are the best thing that has happened to me, but I would never say that to your face.”

“Didn’t you just do that?”

“I’m hiding in your neck, so, no.”

“Semantics.” 

“Facts.”

“Umph.” 

Hanzo placed a little peck on Jesse’s collarbone. “You know, I rarely say these things to you. Maybe it’s because I’m tired but I’m feeling inspired.”

“What kind of things?” Jesse asked. Hanzo’s voice was muffled and soft, his breath warm against Jesse’s skin. But the air seemed a little heavier despite the light mood, as if what he would say next was a burden he had been keeping on his mind. He did that a lot -- let the monsters grow and fester in his head until Jesse would catch them spilling through. 

“The heavy things,” Hanzo replied solemnly. “But also, the true things. The things I keep to myself, mostly.”

“Do share.”

Hanzo let out a long exhale. For a moment, he seemed to debate whether he was tired enough to be this dreadfully naked, thoughts bare for Jesse to see. Would the light thrown on his darkness burn him? Freedom was scary when all he knew was being chained to his own past. “I know I’m a lot to handle,” Hanzo started quietly. He let his arm fall on the bed, hand twining with Jesse’s. A tether to safety, to his one shelter for a storm of his own making. “Almost fifty years on this earth never killed any of my demons. I still have nightmares of the night I almost killed Genji, I still can’t forgive myself even though we’re back in contact. I see his cyborg body, or the way people look at him, and I know I’m responsible. I’ve caused a lot of torment to the both of us, most of it is my fault. That burden is mine alone. I don’t want to share it. Call it duty or selfishness. 

“But I know how you are, Jesse. You want to share everything. You want to help, even unprompted. You want to give, as though it’s the only way you know how to live. I love that about you, like I love many things about you. But my demons are mine to tame. I worry, sometimes, that they’ll get you, too.”

The silence that fell was like a wet blanket sticking to their bodies, cold and suffocating. Sometimes, Jesse hated being right. He could read people like he could shoot with his Peacekeeper -- precise, deadly, as natural as breathing. A quiet part of him had seen Reyes’s downfall before it happened but hadn’t believed it. “Honey, there is no part of you that I see as a burden. None that is too heavy for me.”

“I know. You’re a strong man. And I don’t just say that because of your thighs,” Hanzo deadpanned, and just like that, the mood lifted, all blankets disappearing into steam. “I try to not let it bother me too much. Mostly because I know you, and your stubborn cowboy-raised sense of altruism. You are luminous, Jesse. I don’t want to ever dim that light.”

“You can’t,” Jesse started, lips brushing Hanzo’s brow. “Because you’re the spark that started it.”

Hanzo jolted ever so slightly, but he said nothing. 

Jesse could give him speeches and speeches about how empty his life had been before him, and how many times the void had beckoned him. He would do nothing but wander the world, completing small goals here and there like the release of Echo, following the accomplishments of his former colleagues and friends as he caught up with his own life. Angela, his first lover and the only person who knew about the void in his life, setting out for her life-threatening missions. Ana, the woman he owed for his sharpshooting skills, returning from the dead as a wanted vigilante. Reinhardt, who refused to age like a normal seventy-year-old man, roaming the world with Torbjörn’s daughter Brigitte. Hana who, at twenty-nine, had officially become the lead pilot and engineer of the MEKA Pilots from the South-Korean military forces. He lived vicariously through his friends’ lives as they worked through their dreams out of virtue or duty or pressure. 

But  _ he  _ had never had anything to look forward to. 

Saving the world was nice, but he wanted none of the recognition for doing what should be right. The threat of a new war always lurked with Talon growing stronger every day despite losing their brainwashed agent Widowmaker, rescued by Ana, Angela, and Ashe -- though not for the same reasons. Godly snipers weren’t as scarce nowadays as they were in Amélie’s time after all. Every once in a while he would hear about new vulnerable people like that mentally unstable Dutch scientist absorbed by Talon, and he would lose a little bit of hope. Gabe had been one of them, manipulated by Moira O’Deorain. Knowing his former mentor and friend Gabriel had become the terrorist known as the Reaper in the organization filled him with something sticky and cold, a sense of disappointment and despair and  _ longing  _ only a boy watching a man he had once loved succumb to hate and malice could know. 

He used to have nothing. No hope, no wants, no motivation beyond hanging tight to the one thing he knew how to do: shooting the bad guys. 

But then, he met Hanzo. The mysterious archer who called him unsophisticated and held his head so high he looked taller than Jesse, despite being shorter. With his fine silks and his sake and his left nipple always exposed for reasons Jesse had never questioned. His subtle, dark sense of humor, his honor, his honesty, his arrogance. So sure of himself even when he missed, it looked like he had hit his target anyway. 

He had barged into Jesse’s life completely unannounced. Ten glasses of booze and a few months later, he had given Jesse what he lacked the most in his vigilante life: a home. 

Jesse tightened his embrace on Hanzo, drowning in the scent of bedsheet and green tea and clean soap. When Hanzo embraced him back, he felt whole again. 

“You know, I can’t blame you for trying to kill Genji,” Jesse joked. “Have you  _ seen  _ Genji? Whenever he does that weeb deflect thingy I just feel like punching his stupid face. Angela used to have his number blocked; he would call her at ungodly hours asking for medical care, usually for the most stupid reasons.”

“He is a quite unnerving person.”

“Totally warrants murder if you ask me.”

Hanzo chuckled. “He makes me reconsider sometimes.” 

Jesse planted one last kiss on Hanzo’s brow. “Anyway, that was all very sweet, but we can’t stay in bed all day long.” 

“No?”

“Nah. C’mon, dress up. Hana is gonna make a fuss if we’re late again for gaming lunch.” 

“I’m still not sure why we have to hang out with a girl who doesn’t even understand our references. Can you believe she doesn’t know who Moon Moon is?”

“Honey, Moon Moon is so 2010. Reinhardt hadn’t learned to walk yet. You just think like an ancient.”

“Hana Song owns a Wii, Jesse. In this time and age. A  _ Wii _ .”

“And you still think that dermatologist meme is the pinnacle of humor, you two were made for each other.”

Hanzo tsk-ed. “You are simply jealous of my vintage meme collections.”

“Sure thing, love. Now get ready.”

“Aye, aye. When she kicks your ass for the twelfth time in a row, don’t come crying to me.” 

Jesse watched as his husband finally got out of bed, mumbling complaints under his breath even though he was secretly the biggest fan of gaming lunches with Hana. Or of Hana altogether, to be fair. He would just be damned before admitting he watched her streams, whenever she had time for them anyway. 

While he showered, Jesse let himself plop back on the bed, listening to Hanzo singing in the shower. The air was light, Hana was waiting for them, and the sun was still painting vines and swirls on his skin. 

If he had told his younger self that this was what happiness looked like, even a glimpse of it, he wouldn’t have believed him. Happiness was a concept, maybe something used to sell self-help books, and he had never really envisaged it. He hadn’t been unhappy either, just unsure, disoriented, uprooted, and goalless. 

He wasn’t any less unsure about himself, at nearly fifty years old. Age did not, in fact, make people wiser; it just made them question why they still didn’t have their shit together ‘at their big age’. He didn’t know if he was truly happy, or even if it really mattered. 

Because one thing was for sure, and it was that he had found peace. 

And a home. 


End file.
